Serendipity
by Annie Lockwood
Summary: "We were meant to cross paths, and even if we die this very instant, we'll find each other again. Our souls are connected. Enemies, friends, lovers, whatever it may be." With nothing more than a faded dream directing her, Hermione flees her safe harbor on an altering journey to re-discover herself and the mysterious man that still calls to her in her dreams. Sequel to Destiny.
1. Starting Over

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing from the Harry Potter universe. This fanfiction is written purely for entertainment purposes and nothing more.

A/N: My lovelies! I am back :). How exciting, to start on yet another adventure with all of you. I know we have all been waiting patiently and in great anticipation for the first chapter in my new installment, so I won't keep you waiting any longer.

Enjoy!

-Annie.

* * *

**Takes off a few mornings after Hermione flees her wedding. **

* * *

Starting Over

* * *

The sun was rising.

Beyond the simple pink bricked house of Number 34, the morning sky was a screenplay of colors; they were muted hues, as if the sky itself was just barely rising from its slumber. Distant sea foam waves slid across the sandy shore of the small fishing town of Whitby Bay. A light, salty breeze drifted through the open window, whispering warmly to the gauzy blue curtains. Birds chirped distantly and quietly.

It was a soft and peaceful morning, the kind that usually comforted me and pressed me to emerge from my sheets and welcome the day ahead of me, but today, it brought me nothing but numb despair.

Had I been asleep the dawn's breaking would have greeted me warmly, but I had been staring at this very same window, frozen upright with the quilts my mother had sewn me as a child wrapped tightly around my shoulders, since the darkest hours of the morning. Sleep? What a foreign notion. Sleep had long since abandoned me, forcing me to confront my hideous thoughts.

_What have I done?_

Sick at heart, my thoughts turned to him once more and what I had done just two days ago. And just like that, I was trembling again, my heart jumping around chaotically, trying to burst free and skip like a rock across the ocean. I sat stiffly, unmoving like a cold statue as I clutched a silver chain, my thumb caressing the bright red ruby dangling off of it. Engraved on the back of the ruby were the words, "With Love, Ron".

It had been Ron's grandmother's, a family heirloom that was supposed to be given to Ginny, but because she hated rubies, she suggested that Ron give it to me. He had given it to me over a year ago, when he had asked me to be his girlfriend. It took almost all the money in his account to have it engraved, but it had meant the world to me.

I wondered if I should give it back. Probably. But not today. Moving for the first time in six hours, I placed the necklace back in my jewelry box and snapped the lid shut, hiding it momentarily from my eyes.

Considering I needed to be at work in two and a half hours, I decided to start my morning early, knowing I would never get back to sleep with the mood I was in. I half considered calling in sick and then quickly shook that absurd notion off. Not that it would really matter. I hated my job at Regulations anyway. It was a dead end job.

My entire life was a dead end.

"Hermione?"

My mother's voice came from the other side of the door, followed by a loud knock. I shook my head, clearing my melancholy thoughts and called my mother in. A small woman with dark hair and pink seashell cheeks stood in the doorway with a half-smile, holding a bundle of collapsable cardboard boxes.

"I heard movement in your room and thought I would check on you. You're up early," she said, placing the boxes on the vanity by the door and coming to sit on the bed next to me.

"Yeah," I said softly, my voice croaking from its limited use. "I couldn't sleep."

"Did it have anything to do with your dinner with Ginerva last night? You came home earlier than I expected."

I sighed heavily. "Ginny isn't speaking to me at the moment. Last night was just an excuse for her to yell at me about how much I've broken her brother's heart and what an ungrateful person I am and a coward for leaving her to pick up the pieces. Apparently, everyone is miserable and it is all my fault and I'm a wretched person."

My mother rolled her eyes. "Ginny has always been extremely hot-headed, dear. She'll come around; she's just upset."

"She's supposed to be my friend, though, Mum," I complained, feeling my face get hot. I bit my lip hard, forcing myself not to cry. "I understand she needs to be there for her brother, but what about me? All I need is a friend, someone who will listen to my side of the story too. She knows me better than that. I guess that's why her words are hurting so much."

"Well, you always have a friend in me."

"I know."

I hugged her, still trying not to cry.

"We got another letter from Ronald," my mother told me. "I read it first, I hope you don't mind; I didn't want you to get even more upset."

I shook my head, mumbling that I didn't care.

"He is pretty upset that you won't talk to him."

"Yes, Mum, I am imagine he is," I laughed darkly, thinking about how the whole Weasley family must be upset. "I would be, too."

My mother gave me a sympathetic nod and patted her hand.

"I realize you need time to heal and so does he, and I agree with you that you distancing yourself from him and giving each other time is essential, but I do think that you should write him when you are ready and give him an explanation. He does deserve at least that much."

Then, she grabbed the brown boxes and plopped them in my lap. She laughed at my quizzical expression.

"I'll explain in a moment," she assured me and then pulled out an envelope, placing it gently on my lap.

"What are these for?" I asked, setting aside the boxes and taking the envelope into my hands.

"I know you were staying with us until you and Ron could find your own place to save money, and you are welcome to live with us still if that is what you wish, but I don't think it is the healthiest option for you at this stage of your life."

"What are you saying?" I asked warily.

"I have a plan," my mother informed me. "And before you cast it off, you should listen to me, because I only have your best interest at heart and I know you better than you might think."

I nodded for her to continue.

"Open the envelope."

Inside the envelope was a brochure and map, and on the front of it was a picture of the Eiffel Tower.

"Mum?"

I stared at her in confusion.

"Your father and I have been talking and we think you should go to Paris, just as planned, but different."

"To Paris?" I cried. Suddenly, I was a total wreck, but I was past the point of caring. "Why on earth would you suggest I go to the very place I was going to with Ron on our honeymoon?"

"Hermione, be reasonable. Do you want to stay coffined up in your parent's house until the day you die, feeling miserable?" she probed.

When I remained stubbornly grouchy, she rolled her eyes and turned over the brochure so I could see inside the envelope. Inside it were more brochures, all of them of countries spread throughout Europe that I'd always wished to visit.

"This is the perfect chance to get out of the country for a few months, go backpacking like you've always wanted to do, and figure things out. I did the same thing after I graduated. It really puts things in perspective."

"Mother, no offense, but this is the worst idea I've ever heard," I snapped. "I just broke up with my fiance and left him at the altar without even giving him an explanation, with really no idea why I did it other than I know there's something else out there for me, and you want me to leave the country and go on vacation? That's absurd! I have a job! I have - "

_I have nothing._

"Exactly," my mother continued. "And you aren't going to find that 'something else' sitting in my guest bedroom, eating all of my ice cream, dear. It's time to take charge of your life and stop settling for the safe road and security. You are in a roundabout, honey. You keep circling around and around, afraid to go down a path. You are miserable with your job, your relationships, yourself, and your fear is disabling you from moving forward. Take some risks, Hermione. Make some mistakes. And don't be so hard on yourself. This time is for you, no one else."

Somehow, with her comforting and encouraging methods involving an iced chai and a blueberry muffin, my mother finally convinced me to crawl out of my dark corner and clean myself up. Scrubbed and perfumed for the first time in three days, I sat down at the kitchen table with my mother and spilled my entire being to her, describing in detail why I'd come to so fully hate my life. Together, we created a list of things I had always wished to do or change, but had never had enough spine to do so.

It's strange how one event can send life as you knew it spiraling toward a new direction you'd never imagined.

"Please tell me you will at least think about it," my mother pleaded, urging the envelope into my hands. "The tickets expire in just a few days, so you'll have to make your decision quickly."

I cringed at the thought - I wasn't one for making brash, last minute decisions. In fact, that was something we'd listed on my list.

Europe or not, I knew my parents were right about one thing - I was never going to move on with my life living at my parents solitary home in Whitby. I needed to leave this chapter and turn a new leaf. After work today, I would be buying that studio flat in London _without_ Ron. It's not like I didn't have the money to afford it.

Back in the guest room, I folded up the boxes so that I could begin packing my belongings away and shrinking them to fit in my bag. Once I was finished, I threw the remaining garments I'd set aside into a small suitcase and set it by the door.

My eyes fell upon the envelope, and for the first time I noticed what my mother had scrawled on the front of it with red ink_. _

_Starting Over._

"I must be out of my mind to even consider this," I whispered to myself, pocketing the envelope and shrinking my suitcase. I smoothed the wrinkles in my plum robes and swallowed, gazing at myself in the mirror.

"Robert, hurry up! She's leaving!"

"What's going on?" questioned my father suddenly, appearing in the doorway with his pipe, newspaper, and spectacles. He watched me carefully as I paused by the fireplace.

"Hi, Dad," I responded, tense.

"Hermione and I discussed what we talked about," my mother explained.

"I take it by the lack of your belongings that you have taken our advice," my father assumed, inspecting my empty bedroom.

"Yes, you're getting your guest bedroom back," I said tightly. "I'm going to call that relator in London later today and see if she'd still be willing to make a deal with me about the flat since Ronald took his name off. That way I won't bother you anymore."

"Oh, Hermione, really," clucked my mother, but my father made no move to protest.

Things between him and I were still heavy - the fight about Ron that we'd had a few weeks before my wedding had nearly cut our relationship to pieces and we were still getting used to talking to each other again.

"Well, it's good to see you're making some progress," he said.

"Right," I replied and clutched my bag. "Have a good day, then. I'll keep in touch."

As I moved toward the fireplace and grabbed a handful of powder, I heard my father clear his throat.

"I know you are afraid," he said to me, "but sometimes the only way to get over your fear is to take it by the horns and kick it in the face."

His voice was gruff and absolute, and like he always did when he bid me goodbye, he teared up. Despite how hard it was for him to show emotion, he could never get past me leaving. "I love you, tiny. I think this will be good for you. Have a good trip."

I decided it would be better to leave out the fact that I still hadn't come to a decision about whether or not I was going to Europe, and for that matter, how long I would stay there if I did. Instead, I simply nodded. I couldn't quell the excitement and absolute terror in what I was about to do.

And then, I did something I'd been afraid to do since things got rough with Ron.

I turned my back on them and headed out on my own.

* * *

"Knock, knock."

I shrieked in surprise, my file of papers flying in all directions. My hand flew to my heart, pressing against the silky material of my blouse. I cleared my throat, looking up at the person that had so suddenly interrupted my thoughts, and smoothed out the folds in my gray pencil skirt, sighing in relief at the sight of my assistant.

"Oh, Brigitte, you scared me!" I scolded and Brigitte quickly apologized. "How can I help you?"

"Well, I finished the report on the Fern house elves. It turns out they _have_ been abused quite badly. I just thought I'd come in a little early and—"

"Brigitte, honestly, you need to stop working so hard." I couldn't believe I was actually saying this. "Your example to the other workers is extraordinary and you are progressing with strong speed, but please do both of us a favor and cut back a little bit. Believe me, I know how it gets in this industry when you juggle too much."

Brigitte bowed her head of corn colored corkscrews humbly. "I know, Miss Granger, but I can't help it. I'm _your_ assistant, which means I need to be at the speed _you_ need me to be, and even beyond that if I wish to impress Mr. Knowles. And if I have hopes for advancement anywhere, I know you are the best person to train me."

I shook my head and mumbled quietly, "I'm certainly not the best."

"Anyway, I have a message for you," Brigitte said, helping me gather my fallen documents.

"I ran into an older fellow in the elevator who claimed he knew you very well and he said to give you his regards."

"Did he give a name?"

"Yes," she replied. "Weasley."

"Say that again?" I choked, paling. For some reason, it didn't occur to me that I might run into Ronald here, though it should make sense, considering we work in the same Ministry.

I had half expected the rumor of our broken engagement to be all over the Prophet by now, but Brigitte seemed clueless and no one had approached me about it.

"A Mr. Weasley? Arthur I think he said his first name was," Brigitte said.

Suddenly, I could breathe again, but it was a painful process. Cutting the Weasley's out of my life was necessary, but the pain of doing so was much like cutting off a limb.

"Thank you Brigitte," I exhaled. "You said you had the report on the Fern elves?"

"Yes, here they are. I studied them for three days, as you suggested. Each had a pattern of burns and bruises on their left—"

"Thank you, Brigitte. I am sure you did a splendid job and kept great details for me. I will read this and get back to you when I can."

"Of course. I'm sorry. You must be extremely busy," Brigitte apologized.

"Yes, I am. Since you came in early, would you mind taking on two cases today? We're swamped to our eyeballs and it would be a great relief," I said, handing over two manila folders as the blonde nodded her head excitedly.

She reminded me of myself, before I'd lost ambition and drive. Before I lost myself.

"And I might be leaving early tonight so if you have any questions you can ask Marcus!" I called after her and then sighed.

"Why, Granger, it seems you've grown tired of your little assistant."

I wheeled around and immediately regretted doing so.

"Alfred," I sighed, "what do you want? As you can see, I'm a bit preoccupied."

"Busy, busy Granger. You are just a busy bee," Alfred said, plopping down in my chair.

"Yes, Alfred and you are a lazy horse fly," I shot back tiredly and he slapped a hand to his heart in mock hurt.

"Oh that stung, you bee. Bzzzz," he said, conjuring up a swarm of bees from his wand.

Normally, our light office banter would be the highlight of my morning on days when the workflow was slow, but today I had too much on my mind to entertain the man who had been my partner in crime and cubicle neighbor for the last two years at Regulations.

"Do grow up, Alfred," I yawned, flicking my wand at the bees, causing them to explode into tiny pieces before disappearing.

"You know, you should really think about getting therapy for you cruelness. Especially since we work in a department that is supposed to be about protecting our creatures. I don't think those bees are very happy with the way you just treated them," Alfred teased.

"Do you have a reason for coming over here or did you simply decide that its 'Bug Hermione Day'?"

"Isn't every day Bug Granger Day?"

"Alfred," I warned. "I'm not in the mood."

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, putting up his hands in surrender. "Despite how convinced you are that I do absolutely nothing to contribute to this office's success, I _did_ have a reason for coming over here."

"Then, please, by all means tell me so I can send you back to your lonely cubicle," I sighed, rubbing my bloodshot eyes. The many nights of not being able to sleep was starting to hit me.

"I was wondering if you had the files on the Morton Hippogriffs yet?" he asked, all joking done.

"Actually, I just finished putting them together. Would you like them now?"

Before he could reply, I dropped a large file fastened together by a rubber band, on his lap.

"Holy Merlin, woman, how much time did you spend on this?" Alfred complained.

"Not very long," I answered and he snorted.

"Of course."

"Alfred, you do realize you are still sitting in my cubicle?"

"Right. I'm not quite finished Granger," he said.

"Strange," I mumbled sardonically, my sarcasm barely tame, "I was hoping you would say that."

"Have you had your lunch break yet?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, Alfred I have. Anything else?"

"Yes. Are you free for dinner tonight?" he asked.

I froze.

"In the two years we've worked together, you never once asked me to join you on an extracurricular activity."

I turned to him and quirked an eyebrow.

"Why now?"

He cleared his throat, all joking and teasing aside, and looked at his hands.

"That was because you were taken."

My stomach dropped and it all became incredibly clear.

"You heard about the engagement," I clarified and he nodded.

"I asked too soon, didn't I?"

Before I had the chance to make things awkward, Brigitte suddenly appeared, startling me once again.

"Mr. Knowles would like to see you in his office," my assistant explained. "He's been asking for you all afternoon, but you were at lunch."

"Sounds serious. Raincheck?" Alfred asked.

I ignored him, walking briskly toward the glass door at the end of our row of cubicles and hoping he would get the hint and that would be the end of it.

I could see Mr. Knowles in his office through the door, leaning back in his chair as paper airplane memos flew his large bald held. He had a cigar in his mouth, despite the Ministry's strong rule against indoor smoking and was reading the Daily Prophet.

Inhaling deeply, I knocked on the door twice. Mr. Knowles looked up from the newspaper and rolled his eyes, ushering me in with his fat hand.

"Take a seat, Miss Granger," he grunted and I complied.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked.

"Yes. I did. Good for you to finally come and see me," he said.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was at lunch when you—"

"Anyway!" he barked and my words froze in my throat. "Simply put, I brought you in here to tell you that you're being promoted."

"Pardon?" I gasped.

"You're being promoted, Granger. Means you're moving up in the job? You'll be Assistant Manager and you'd start tomorrow, if you're interested that is."

Suddenly, I felt sick. I pictured how it would be, working another two years under the thumb of the corrupt Gideon Knowles. My job really was a dead end. Assistant Manager, while it held its perks - my own personal office next to Mr. Knowles, a slight pay raise, a lunch that was fifteen minutes longer than the others, and more sick days - was a death sentence. After becoming Assistant Manager, there was nowhere else to go. It meant I would have to face that pudgy beast of a man every day, several times a day, and do his bidding.

And I was definitely worth more than becoming somebody's own personal bitch.

"Normally, my employees show at least a smidgeon of thanks and excitement when given this opportunity," Knowles grunted.

"I apologize," I said quickly. "I was merely caught off guard. I do appreciate the offer."

I shifted in my seat and something crinkled in my robes. Placing my hand on my pocket and furrowing my brow, I felt the envelope from earlier this morning resting there.

Waiting for my decision.

"Yes, but again, this is a one time offer and quite frankly, the best one you'll probably ever get. So, why do bear the resemblance of a disgusted raccoon?"

And suddenly, after two years of holding my tongue and taking his verbal swatting, I stood up.

"Because you are foul," I spat.

"Excuse me?"

"You are disgusting, crude, and disrespectful. You have no respect for the rules of this organization, you harass and bully your employees every day until their emotions have withered away, and you don't give a damn about the true cause of this department. And for the love of God, put out that hideous cigar before your carelessness lights up this entire office or gives us all cancer, you despicable pile of rubbish!"

"How dare you speak to me this way, after I've just graciously offered you-"

"Codswallop!" I screeched, and suddenly the entire office was staring at me. Apparently, I hadn't closed to the door all the way behind me and everyone had overheard my rant.

"Miss Granger, lower your voice this instant. Have you taken ill? What's possessed you?"

"To stay one more minute in this pathetic place would be a torment. And pardon me, but the thought of spending the rest of my days filling your coffee mug and calling your wife to make excuses for you while you sleep with her best friend is the last thing I want to do. God, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I_ quit_!"

"And where will you go?" he barked. "I'm certainly not writing you a positive recommendation!"

"I haven't the foggiest, actually. Perhaps Paris, maybe Spain, but I am leaving England," I announced proudly and my voice was so confident and sure that I surprised even myself.

I flung my badge at him in response and stalked out of the office, feeling rather giddy.

"Uh…congrats?" Alfred said, obviously having overheard my resignation. "When were you going to inform me that you were taking off?"

"It all was just kind of a sudden opportunity, to be honest," I said, stacking my files in a neat and orderly pile.

"You can't be serious, Granger," Alfred said, grabbing my wrist. "Have you lost your mind? I mean I realize that you are going through a lot with the break up, but quitting your job and leaving for Europe? Forgive me but that sounds a little extreme."

"Alfred, I realize it is a huge risk and possibly the biggest mistake of my life, but as someone close to me once said, sometimes you just need to grab your fear by the horns and kick it in the face," I told him, yanking my wrist from his grasp. I shoved the large pile of files into his arms. "Those are yours."

I turned to my assistant, patting her on the shoulder. "Brigitte, it was nice working with you. I have no doubt that you will make a big name for yourself. You'll go far. If you ever need a letter of recommendation, I'll happily oblige."

A high pitched gurgling sound, something in between a giggle and a sob, escaped my throat. It was the first time I'd laughed in a long time and came out all cracky and strange, like a dying cat choking on a rat. I grabbed my coat and scarf and bee-lined it out of the swarm of cubicles once and for all.

For the first time since the war, I had no idea where I was going.

And, the most terrifying part was,

I kind of liked it.


	2. A Twist In Plans

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing from the Harry Potter universe. This fanfiction is written purely for entertainment purposes and nothing more.

A/N: Ah! I have to admit, I am really excited to write this story. I hope all of you are feeling the same way about reading it, otherwise I'm not doing my job right. Haha. Well, enough of my rambling-I'm sure you are anxious to read the second chapter, so here you go! Please review, please? You know the drill.

Enjoy!

-Annie.

* * *

A Twist In Plans

* * *

_What am I doing here?_

I still couldn't believe I was in France.

Despite my being here for a a week already, it was still hard to grasp. I'd been here before, of course, in the summer before third year with my parents. We'd stayed in Paris, in a hotel right smack dab in the middle of everything. But now I was staying in Montmartre, a place my father had forbid the family to go to, despite how much my mother wanted to see the Sacre-Coeur. It was famous for its petty thefts, narrow streets that weren't washed, and the Moulin Rouge.

I was staying in the red light district, where black markets and beggars asking for alms were on every corner, posing nude in the alley as a muse for a painting was more frequent, and women and men shed their strappings for money in the park.

How did I come to stay _here_, of all places? Mostly, it was because the little girl in me had wanted to go to the place my father had forbid us to go. The other half of it was it was cheap - very cheap in fact.

I'd wanted to save France for last, not sure if I was strong enough when I departed London to face the country I had planned to go to with Ron for our honeymoon. I'd spent the majority of my "backpacking through Europe" fund already, not really thinking I'd actually make it to France, but here I was, Ron free and going broke. That simply meant, with how low my funds were, I'd either have to return back to England sooner than I had planned or stay in a hostel, which was not of interest to me.

Staring around my very tiny and cramped hotel room, I half wondered if I would get some kind of disease from staying in it. The urine colored wallpaper was crumbling badly and curling up on the corners like fungus filled toenails that had gotten too long. A foul smell was coming from the closet and I began to dread that the obese tabby cat that had somehow managed to climb its way up the dumpster in the alleyway beneath my balcony last night had snuck into my hotel room while I was sleeping and was now resting in peace in that very closet. And last night, while I was tossing and turning on my springy cot - I didn't even want to imagine what types of things had occurred on this bed - I could have sworn I felt something with tiny little legs and a hard exoskeleton like a cockroach crawling over my face.

Suffice it to say, my stay in France had started off on a rough page. Again, I had to wonder why I was here.

I'd started out nervously in Norway, keeping to myself mostly, and Sweden, where I'd tasted my first cow tongue, eventually heading to Denmark where I'd indulged in the shops and cried myself to sleep every night, wishing Ginny were with me - she was the one who liked to shop anyway, not me. I'd been perfectly happy in Austria - I'd traveled there with a young woman from America named Halle that I'd met in Germany while touring a cathedral - attending classical concerts and admiring the sloping hills of wildflowers by her grandmother's cottage, where she gave me food poisoning from her homemade meatballs.

It had been an experience, that was for sure, but eventually I ended up in Switzerland, having said my goodbyes to Halle and her grandmother. It was in Switzerland that I went on my first date since Ron, with a young man named Luca who spoke pretty good English and offered to give me a tour of the countryside after he picked his sister up from her arriving train.

I _had_ planned on just staying in Switzerland until my trip was up, marking France off my list since I was still feeling nervous about going there, but things hadn't gone quite as planned. Apparently, in Switzerland, it was common for a young man - Luca - and his sister - Noemi - to bring a girl they'd just met at the train station home to meet their family for their mother's birthday and then try to seduce her after dessert.

In the basement apartment where they still lived at age 26.

_Both of them. _

Fraternal, bi-sexual twins.

I shuddered at the thought and slowly got out of bed, the old floorboards creaking as I dressed for the evening, having spent the majority of the afternoon walking the city. My one week lease would be up tomorrow afternoon, so I decided tonight was as good a night as any to leave Montmartre and visit Paris one last time before I headed home.

Shrinking my suitcases into my handbag, I calculated the amount of euro owed and high-tailed it out of there before the grungy landlord, Monsieur Poufin, who reminded me eerily of Mr. Knowles, could offer me his bed in exchange for cheaper rates. Distantly, I heard him speaking in angry French with one of his tenants down the hall and knew he would be in a foul mood. I approached the front desk, finding it empty, and stashed the envelope on his desk.

Outside, the light was beginning to fade from sky and in its place stepped the darkness, spreading its oppressive fingers over the milky lavender horizon, and a light rain spiraled down upon me, further deepening my miserable state. I was only a block down from the lodging I'd been sleeping at when I heard someone hollering.

"_Arrête ! Au voleur_ _!_"

Suddenly, someone grabbed me tightly and spun me around. I came face to face with M. Poufin, his face red and sweating profusely. His palm was slick on my skin, but firm. He towered over me, raging like an angry French bull.

"What?" I exclaimed, tugging at my arm. "Let me go this instant! What do you want?"

In his other hand he clutched the envelope of euro I'd left for him on his desk while he was away.

By now, the entire street had stopped to stare and snicker, as if this type of thing happened daily. I wanted to scream for help, but I couldn't remember how to call for the police in French - or how to say anything short of "my name is" and "thank you". It's not like I could really reach into my purse and grab my French-English dictionary.

"_Donnez-moi votre argent!_"

M. Poufin suddenly stepped forward, seizing me by my blouse with such ferocity, the three top buttons sprung loose, exposing my bra to all of Montmartre.

"Let go!" I cried, trying and failing to shake him.

He began clawing at my purse, nearly ripping it clean off me. I was just about to reach for my wand when someone knocked into me, sending me flying into the brick wall of a bakery.

"_Va te faire foutre, trouduc!_"

I looked up at the sound of a female voice, loud and clear. She was a petite woman, a little taller than me, with thick dark ringlets trampling down to her waist, bright cerulean eyes, and fair skin. She proceeded screaming, kicking the man hard under his kneecap. There was a loud _crunch_ and M. Poufin slid to the ground with a painful howl.

_"Tu es un putain et une_ _salope!_" he snarled vehemently at me before turning to the girl standing protectively beside me. "_Et vous. __Brûle en enfer!" _

He tore off before, screaming at the top of his lungs. Whatever he had said had not sounded pleasant.

"_êtes-vous d'accord_?" asked the girl and I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know French."

Recognition dawned in her eyes.

"You're English!" she exclaimed apologetically. "I should have known you didn't understand what he was saying; I have never seen someone be so calm with someone screaming profanities at them like that."

"What are you talking about?" I wondered, dusting myself off.

She eyed my wand clenched in my hand and her eyes widened. "You'd better put that away before some Muggle sees you."

"You're a - ?"

"Witch? Yes," she replied. "That's the reason I came over here in the first place. I saw you reaching for your wand."

"It's just habit," I said, frowning deeply.

"It's instinct for you to go for your wand first thing when someone confronts you?" she laughed, eyeing me suspiciously. "Wait a minute. I recognize your face. You're Harry Potter's friend, aren't you?"

"Hermione," I clarified. "You know about Harry all the way over here?"

She nodded.

"Of course we do. He killed Voldemort. Who _doesn't_ know him? And you for that matter."

"I'm not that important," I mumbled.

"Are you _kidding_? If it hadn't been for you, Harry Potter probably would have died." She stares at my shifting feet and frown and sees it almost immediately. "I'm sorry. I know it's probably still a sensitive subject with you being on the front lines and all. It couldn't have been easy and I'm probably not making it any better. I can be a real dunce sometimes."

"Don't worry about it," I said, adjusting my bag. "So, what was he saying to me?"

"That man? Oh, he was screaming about how you were a whore and a slut and how you were a petty thief that owed him more money than you gave him. Not to mention, telling me to burn in hell."

"What on earth?" I gasped. "I gave him all the money he requested for my one week rent!"

"Apparently, you two had come to some sort of agreement that if you slept with him he would lower your rent?"

I balked. "There was _no_ agreement. He harassed me every night when I went out for some air about lowering my rent for a one night stand and I repeatedly told him I wouldn't. I might not know many French phrases but I do know how to say 'no'. I paid him the amount it originally was."

"He probably added more to your rate because you kept refusing him," the girl told me, rolling her eyes. "What can I say? Welcome to Montmartre, where the men are pigs and the women don't care."

"And do you live here?" I wondered, staring at her baby blue cashmere sweater, tailored skirt, pearls, and French manicured nails and toes.

"Hell no," she scoffed. "I just came down here to get some packages that were delivered to the wrong shop for my mother." She held up several boxes. "She owns a wedding salon in downtown Paris, which is where I live."

"I was just headed there," I told her, expressing how it was my last night in France before I headed home to England. "Oh, I just realized I haven't thanked you for stepping in when you did. I don't even know your name."

"Ariana de Jean," she answered with a charming smile, holding out her hand. "And don't thank me. I should be thanking _you_ for adding some excitement to my day."

The street lights hummed on, flickering dimly. I stared up at the twilight sky, the color of steel metal.

"If you'll help me carry these, I'll show you around," Ariana offered, seeing the way I was staring longingly over at the Eiffel Tower.

"Deal," I agreed, grabbing several of the boxes.

She led me to the corner of the alley where a long black luxury car sat idly waiting. Ariana rapped on the darkly tinted windows and the doors unlocked, the trunk popping open. We deposited the boxes in the back and climbed into the back seats. Inside the car it smelled like polished wood, lingering expensive perfume, and new leather.

"Is this yours?"

"Technically, it belongs to my parents, but as it considered my 'private' car, I suppose it is mine," Ariana replied, rolling her eyes.

It occurred to me that Ariana de Jean must come from very wealthy circumstances, but for some reason she did not wish to discuss it further. I wondered why.

"That's the Notre Dame," she said, pointing over my shoulder.

I turned in my seat to gaze in wonder as we passed the magnificent cathedral, its beautiful circular rose window twinkling in the now present moonlight.

"It seems later than it really is," I sighed, checking my watch.

"You seem troubled. Are you sad to be leaving tomorrow?"

Suddenly, I felt compelled to tell her everything about me - how I'd left my fiancé at the altar and fled to Norway without so much as an explanation why, how I'd saved France for last because I wasn't sure I'd be able to face it emotionally, and how I'd done everything in the last two months based on some distant and foggy dream I'd had when I'd fainted the morning of my wedding.

"Very," I admitted. "I had planned on staying so much longer, perhaps even a month or two so that I could fully immerse myself in the beauty and culture of it all, but I simply don't have the means to."

"How do you mean?" she inquired, her brazen blue eyes searching my face.

"I've been traveling all over Europe for quite some time now," I told her. "I simply don't have the money to stay in Paris any longer. It's rather expensive."

"It makes more sense now why you were staying at the Bleu Grenouille," she observed. "Unless you are, of course, a prostitute needing lodging?"

I gaped at her and she broke out into fits of hysterical laughter.

"I'm only joking!" she assured me, gesturing to my black jeans, tennis shoes, and white tee. "It's obvious to me that you aren't a prostitute. You've probably never slept with anyone in your whole life. I don't mean that as an insult; I only mean you seem very - "

"Prudish?" I sighed and she giggled again, nodding.

"I was going to say high-moralled, but that works too."

We traveled several more streets before we pulled up to a grand building which towered upward. It was made of what looked like white marble with blue shutters and large flower beds in the windowsills. We stepped out of the car and I was immediately overthrown by the particularly heavy floral scent lingering in the air.

"Where are we?" I wondered, staring up in awe at the beautiful building.

"Home," Ariana exhaled, frowning. "The entire first three floors are dedicated to my mother's salon. The other five floors belong to us. Mostly we just rent them out, but the top floor is our penthouse. My mother's a wedding designer, quite a famous one at that. Antoinette de Jean? Maybe you've heard of her?"

I shook my head and her eyebrows jutted up. "That's refreshing. Now I know for certain you must like me for me and not my mother."

"Is that a common problem with you?"

She nodded glumly. "I detest it here. They pay for everything, which means they control everything. I'm nineteen years old but all my money is still in their name. Simply speaking, I'm stuck."

"I know how that feels," I muttered.

"Come _on_, Hermione, you've hardly said anything about yourself," Ariana urged, replacing her frown quickly. "I know I talk a lot, but I'm sure I haven't been _that_ overwhelming."

I shrugged, wondering why I should open up to this complete stranger. What was the point? I would be leaving tomorrow anyway. Possibly even tonight if I couldn't find anywhere to stay that was less than a couple hundred dollars.

I noticed that Ariana was waiting for me to follow her inside.

"Or you can just stay outside," she joked. "I'm just going to run these up to my mother. You can come if you like, but it will only take a second."

"I've nothing better to do," I stated and she smiled at me.

"Don't be such a sour puss, Hermione. You are in _Paris_! You might as well enjoy it," she said to me.

We ascended the walkway and up the front steps as two doormen held the large brass doors open for us.

"Good evening, Miss Ariana," greeted a bald man near the elevator. "To the penthouse?"

"Yes, thank you, Richard," Ariana said and dragged me into the elevator. "Do you know if my mother is around, by chance?"

The man shook his head. "She just caught her car, mademoiselle."

I turned to Ariana, a question mark plastered to my face.

"It seems we've just missed her," she replied as the elevator door shut and Richard pushed in the number 6. "She's headed to New York, which means we've got the penthouse to ourself for the night, unless Father is home."

"Isn't your mother a witch?" I asked.

"Yes, both my parent's are," she said.

"Why doesn't she just apparate?"

"Appearances," Ariana answered. "She's very famous in both Muggle and Magical sense. As for me, it's the same thing."

"Since I've been traveling, I have tried to take as many buses, metros, and trains as possible. I think it improves the whole experience of everything," I disclosed, not sure why I was doing so.

"I would have to agree with you there."

_Ding._

"Come on, I'll show you around," Ariana said, practically dragging me into the penthouse.

It was past the point of grand with rich red carpeting, cherry wood walls, and a marble staircase. A large crystal chandelier hung overhead as we ascended the stairs. She showed me around the entire penthouse, from the bathrooms to the kitchen, to the maid's room, to her room, and through all the guest rooms until finally we were at her parent's room.

_Knock. Knock._

"One moment," called a male voice from behind the door. "Enter."

Ariana turned the brass knob and peeked into the room. "Father, it's Ariana. Are you decent?"

"What are you doing home so early? Didn't you have to get your mother's - "

His sentence cut off as he rounded the corner and his eyes locked on mine. "You've brought a guest."

Ariana nodded. "Yes, her name is - "

"Hermione Granger," he interrupted, sleeking back his salt and pepper hair. "Such a pleasure to meet you and what a surprise. To what do we owe such a visit? Certainly you aren't here for one of Antoinette's dresses?"

My face instantly flushed red. "No, sir."

"Didn't think so, what with your engagement being called off and everything. So sorry to hear it didn't work out for the two of you, but that Weasley character never was a good suit for you to begin with, if I may be so bold."

As a matter of fact, it was bold of him. My personal affairs were none of his business in the first place.

"Oh, dear, it seems I've overstepped my boundaries," he said.

"What a surprise," Ariana deadpanned, staring at me in shock. "Anyway, here are Mother's dresses. I had a discussion with the shipping company and it won't happen again."

"Good, your mother was in hysterics," Ariana's father said and then turned to me again. "Claude de Jean, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

I shook his hand tightly. "Likewise, I'm sure."

"Quite the grip you have there," he laughed nervously. "So, what brings you to Paris, Miss Granger?"

"I've been backpacking Europe for a while now and saved France for last, it being my favorite place."

"How long will you be staying?" he inquired.

"I'm thinking of leaving tomorrow," I said. "It's really rather unfortunate, actually. Today has been my first day really enjoying the place."

"She's been holed up in Montmarte at that horrid Bleu Grenouille for the past week. She hasn't even been able to visit the Eiffel."

"Why, she simply doesn't know what time of day to see it," the man laughed. "You will find, Miss Granger, that our family has many connections. We should be able to get you up there in no time."

"Oh, that's really not necessary," I protested.

"Nonsense," he said, cutting me clean off. "And if you wish to stay in France longer, you simply must. One must not overlook such a place. You shall stay here, with us."

"I really couldn't - "

"Hermione, why not? It's not like we don't have the extra space," Ariana said. "Plus, I would love some company. You can stay for a month, two months, however long you want. I can help you with your French and show you around, help you understand the culture and everything."

There was a long pause in which both Ariana and her father stared at me expectantly.

"I simply don't have the money," I said finally. "But thank you."

"Don't be ridiculous," barked Ariana's father. "I'll have Colette turn a bed down for you and get you some fresh towels. You will stay here, I insist."

"Free of charge," Ariana added when I began to protest.

"Thank you but I really can't ask you to do that. I would feel bad just intruding without giving you something in return."

"Are you that insistent on paying us back?"

I nodded tightly. "It's how I was raised, sir."

"Well, then I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement. You'll be needing money for your outings and such, so why don't you work at Antoinette's salon? We could use to extra help and you seem like an honest, hardworking woman. In return, you may stay here rent free for however long you wish."

"Really?" I wondered, staring at them.

_I can't believe this is happening,_ I thought excitedly.

"I would really appreciate that," I told them and Ariana's father nodded curtly before arranging for his housekeeper to tidy my new chambers.

"It's like it's your destiny to stay here!" Ariana chirped and her father rolled his eyes. "If that idiot shipping company hadn't shipped our boxes to the wrong address, I never would have been in Montmartre today in that very alley in which I found you. We never would have crossed paths. And you would be going home to England without really having any fun in Paris. It's funny how some things just work out."

I didn't know what to say. Normally, I would have just scoffed and told her that destiny was just a bunch of hype people made up to rationalize coincidences. But for some reason, I couldn't help thinking the same thing. That I had meant to run into this woman today, that we were meant to cross paths, and that I wasn't supposed to return to England yet.

_There's an entire world out there that you have yet to touch on. __There are many paths for you, Hermione, but only you can choose the path you are destined for._

My brow furrowed. That phrase was familiar. Had someone said it to me before? I couldn't remember.

"Want to experience some of that French culture?" asked Ariana.

"Sure," I said warily. "What were you thinking?"

I figured it would be something like taking a ride around the city or walking all the flights of stairs up the Eiffel Tower, but I hadn't been expecting what came up next.

"I'm attending university for the summer semester and I have this delectable student teacher for my Romantic Literature class who puts on this poetry slam type thing, where we all get together and discuss literature or poetry and sip on coffee and have a blast. It's free, so you wouldn't need any money, and I get extra credit if I go and even more if I bring a friend. It goes all night since the cafe is open until midnight. Want to come? I'm sure Etienne would love to meet you."

A handsome Frenchman teaching about romantic literature over warm coffee in an intimate Parisian cafe?

Maybe staying in Paris wasn't going to be so bad after all.


	3. Smell The Roses

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing from the Harry Potter universe. This fanfiction is written purely for entertainment purposes and nothing more.

A/N: And so we are moving along! Isn't this exciting? How are you guys liking it? Please let me know. And remember, Hermione's destiny has changed, so things aren't going to be the same as you remember. One simple little thing like can delay time in such a way that, events that were to happen, don't. And everything gets jumbled. Keep that in mind, loves!

Enjoy!

-Annie.

* * *

Smell The Roses

* * *

_Several Weeks Later._

* * *

I'd been sitting on my bed for two hours more than I should have been.

_She should have been back over an hour ago_, I worried mentally.

It was now 10:12 at night and Ariana was no where to be seen. In fact, I hadn't heard from her at all since yesterday when she left for a party. After begging me to come with her and not succeeding, Ariana finally left, telling me not to wait up for her and that we would go to the poetry slam at the local cafe where her student teacher, Etienne, volunteered at the following night.

Yet, she was not here.

Of course, her absence gave me some extra time to go over the piece Etienne had challenged the poetry club last Wednesday and put the finishing touches to my writing, so I couldn't complain too much, but it was getting late and the cafe closed at midnight. I'd read my piece over five times and though I had confidence in my writing, I did want Etienne to look it over and give me his opinion and advice.

"Oh my God, Hermione," Ariana squealed as she burt in through my door. "I had the weirdest night ever! I wish you would have come!"

Agitated, I tossed my poetry piece aside and sat up straighter as she flopped on my bed. She was a mess. Her mascara and liner was smeared, giving her the appearance of an intoxicated raccoon. Her dark purple lipstick was faded and smeared, staining her chin.

I folded my arms as she flung her heels at the wall. "Well, I'm glad you had fun."

"What?" she demanded, raising a hand to her hairspray-caked hair self-consciously. "You're giving me the "mum" look. I didn't sleep with him okay? We just got really drunk at the party and he offered to let me crash at his place and I passed out. Actually, it was pretty embarrassing...I sort of vomited in front of him and he totally helped me. He was super sweet, but I'm not sure if there's chemistry between us yet. Seriously, stop looking at me like that. What did I do?"

Sighing exasperatedly, I gestured to the antique clock on the wall.

"You are an hour late, Ari," I explained patiently. "Where have you been?"

"Late for what?"

"We told Etienne we'd be at your class at nine," I replied, but she seemed unfazed.

"So? It's an extra credit class," she reminded me. "For _my_ university course. You're the one who is obsessed with going every week."

"You don't want to go?"

"No! I'm really tired of going there. It's so boring," Ariana griped. "I only go because you really seem to enjoy yourself and I think Etienne is cute. But, honestly, he seems to be interested in you a ton more than me. I would set you two up if I didn't like him so much myself."

"I really wanted to have Etienne take a look at my work."

"Hermione, we all know Etienne thinks your writing is exquisite. We've gone to that class every Wednesday for like four weeks. Can't we do something else for once?"

"I would have gone by myself if I'd known you weren't interested in going tonight. You're the one who told me yesterday before your party you'd be home in time for us to go tonight."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Ariana clucked, folding her arms. "Do you forgive me?"

Despite how irritated I should have been with her, I'd found that the more I got to know Ariana, the harder it was for me to stay upset with her. She was not my type of friend at all - she loved to party, drink, and be in the public eye. She was the complete opposite of me, but I felt connected to her somehow, as if she were a little sister.

"Of course," I sighed, smiling and giving her a hug.

"Can we please go out?" Ariana begged.

"Ari, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh, come on. You are like a hermit. In fact, I think I'm going to start calling you "Hermy the Hermit". Don't you ever have any fun?"

"Why are you so insistent on me going out with you?" I wondered, cringing at my new nickname. "You know I don't like that kind of stuff."

"Well, because I kind of already told some people that you would," Ariana admitted and I gaped at her.

"Excuse me?"

"You know that guy I was telling you about?"

I nodded stiffly. "The one you didn't sleep with while intoxicated but you went home with him anyway?"

"Why do you have to make me feel bad about everything I do?" Ariana whined, rolling her eyes. "_Anyway,_ I want to get to know him better, see if there's a spark. We're going to the opening of _Darkstar_, the new club. But I didn't want to come off as easy or cheap and I didn't want to leave you alone again when you're leaving soon, so I said that I would only go out with him again if you could come."

I shook my head. I'd been the third wheel with Ariana and her flings too many times.

"Before you say no, I told him to bring his friend so that you won't be the third wheel this time."

"I'm not interested in dating anyone, Ariana. I just broke up with my _fiance_."

"You've got to get back out there sooner or later, Hermione! Take some time to stop and smell the roses!" Ariana argued. "Look, he's very gentlemanly. He's charming, blonde, rich, and very handsome. He's a real bookworm, too."

"I'm not interested," I said firmly.

"There's no committment factor, Hermione. I'm not asking you to sleep with the bloke or marry him. He's headed back home soon, anyway."

_"No_."

My response came out a little rougher than I had wanted it to. Ariana took a step back, all excitement gone.

"Well, I'm going out," she said stiffly. "You can come or not; up to you."

I watched her head toward the door, head bowed down and excitement shot like a lost, sad puppy. I felt genuinely bad for rejecting her after she'd gone to so much trouble to include me before I went home in a few weeks. And I worried for her like an older sibling would. I knew what a lush Ariana could be when she went drinking and I would much rather I be with her to make sure she was in safe hands than her going home with some stranger again.

"Fine, I'll go," I conceded.

Ariana swung around, nearly tripping over herself.

"You will?" she gasped, jumping up and down.

"On _one_ condition," I continued and she nodded.

"Anything!"

"I stop by the cafe to give Etienne my piece," I conditioned and she agreed, "and I will not be somebody's blind date. You will have to tell your date and his friend that it just won't happen."

"Okay," Ariana sighed. "Do you realize how lame that's going to make me look?"

"Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," Ariana said. "But I have conditions, too."

"Oh?"

"You have to let me help you get ready and you have to at least attempt to have a good time," she said. "Oh, and I already have a mother, I don't need you scolding me on how much I had to drink and who I dance with, okay?"

"Agreed," I said after a moment.

I reluctantly allowed Ariana to dress me up for our night on the town, slipping into a midnight blue halter top, figure hugging dress and black wedges. She dressed up my face with liner and mascara, giving me a far more dramatic and sexy look than I appreciated, and tousled my hair into loose curls.

"You look great!"

"I don't know." I inspected myself in the mirror. "I think it is a bit much."

"Duh," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "We're partying tonight. That's the point."

I ignored her and continued to inspect my make up.

"How do I look?" Ariana asked, spinning around in her black mini skirt and red sequined tube top.

"Very nice," I responded appreciatively. "That top suits you."

"You are so modest," Ariana giggled. "Let loose, Hermit. You didn't go on this trip for nothing. This is the time to be wild and crazy!"

I rolled my eyes, gesturing to my outfit. "_This_ is me being wild and crazy. Taking off to backpack through Europe was just insane."

"But you don't regret it," she reminded me. "In fact, you've quite enjoyed it. And if you never came on this trip, you never would have found your best friend in the whole wide world!"

"I'm assuming you mean you?" I laughed and she nodded exuberantly before dragging me out of the penthouse.

When we arrived at the cafe, the poetry slam was practically dead. We found Etienne in the corner, sipping on a black coffee and reading a stack of papers for his class the next day.

"Ariana," he said, greeting her with a peck on both cheeks. "We missed you and Hermione tonight."

"It was all my fault," Ariana explained. "We had a major crisis at the salon with a crazy bridezilla who just _would not leave_. And of course, we can't just kick the lady out if we think she's going to buy, so we had to stay like an hour after closing time."

I blinked. She was an incredible liar.

Etienne turned to me.

"Nice to see you again, Hermione," he whispered, kissing my hand lightly. "You look stunning."

Ariana's eyes narrowed upon the gesture and I quickly removed my hand.

"Likewise," I replied.

"Anyway, I'm afraid you've come too late," said Etienne, gesturing to the practically empty cafe. "Everyone is headed to the opening of the new club, _Darkstar." _

"That's exactly where we were just headed!" Ariana cried excitedly. "Hermione just wanted to drop her paper off with you. I'll grab it from you in class tomorrow."

I handed him the piece and Etienne smiled. "I'd be happy to look it over. I wanted to discuss your last piece in more depth. There's something truly inspiring about the way you described - "

Ariana released an exaggerated yawn.

"Time's wasting away. I'm afraid Hermy and I have to get going. Since you aren't up to anything, why don't you join us?" Ariana asked, batting her long eyelashes. "You and Hermione can bond over poetry for a bit and I can get my dance on and we'll all have a nice evening. What do you say?"

Etienne regarded me and I smiled, shrugging timidly. "I don't see why not. I don't really get out much."

We set off to the club where Ariana immediately flew toward the bar. Etienne and I followed her, plopping down onto two available spinning chairs.

"Three cherry vodkas and an apple martini, please," Ariana ordered.

I shook my head persistently. "I don't drink, Ari."

The bartender pushed three dark purple drinks and an electric green liquid toward Ariana who simply laughed. "Don't worry, Herms, these aren't for you."

"You can't possibly drink all of those," Etienne stated in admiration.

"Well, as much as I appreciate your confidence in me holding my liquor so well, these aren't all for me. I'm actually meeting some guys here," she said, sweeping her long dark locks across her shoulder in a seductive way, causing Etienne's jaw to drop a fraction. "If you two birds need me, I'll be at that booth in the corner. When you're ready for a _real_ party, hit me up."

She pranced away, her hips swaying side to side. Etienne stared after her appreciatively before shaking his head.

"She sure is something, isn't she?" he chuckled, ordering a drink for himself.

"That's an understatement," I replied, smirking.

"Even so, you're more my type," Etienne disclosed bluntly, scooting closer to me.

Not knowing how to respond I simply smiled, blushing at the compliment. With his chiseled body, musky scent, and dark hair, it was hard not to notice how appealing Etienne was. I had to admit I was attracted to him and in another time and place I would have been interested in taking things farther with him, but I had a sneaking suspicion Ariana would murder me if I expressed an interest in the charming Frenchman. Despite her flighty nature, she seemed to be very taken with him, which was furthermore expressed tonight when she tried so hard to grab his attention and make him jealous.

It was going to be an interesting night.

Etienne and I discussed my piece for at least a half hour before he turned to me, taking my hand in his.

"You are beautiful, Hermione, and not just in a physical way. And your writing is exquisite. I feel very honored to read your pieces and see into your soul. Have you ever considered writing professionally?"

Astounded by his kind words I shook my head.

"Not really. I sort of always imagined myself doing something meaningful, making an impact," I explained. "For instance, I worked with abused animals for quite some time after I finished schooling to try and change some of the laws against the brutality going on in the community."

I knew Etienne was a Muggle, so I refrained from describing my career in more detail.

'Writing has always just been a hobby of mine."

"But your writing _is_ meaningful," he protested. "You could really make a difference through your writing. It's so expressive and captivating. Just like this last piece; I can't imagine what has happened to make such a beautiful woman so unsure of herself. This piece is heart-wrenching and I'm sure many women and men have once in their life felt the heart-ache that you have expressed in your poem. Really, it's magnificent. It gives the reader a sense of hope toward the end, though, with the reality that no matter what happens, there's something out there you are meant for, someone you are meant to be with. It's inspiring."

"Thank you," I said, nearly tearing up. "It's been hard to complete the assignments you've challenged us to write. They are so personal and reflective, it is hard to open up that part of my life that I've tried so hard to shut away and heal from. But, oddly, I find it really refreshing. I haven't felt so good in a long time."

"That's always normal and I'm glad to hear you are gaining positivity from it. Sometimes you need to open up some wounds to create beauty. Sometimes in order to heal your pain, you need to confront it, dissect it, embrace it. I don't know what happened in your life to make you feel the way you do so fiercely, but I think it's something the world needs to see. Writers like you are few and hard to find. You keep up the writing and you could really make it out there one day," Etienne promised, squeezing my hand. "You have talent, Hermione. Real, raw talent."

He gestured to the bartender.

"Please," he said, stroking my hand. "Won't you let me buy you a drink?"

I paused, biting my lip, considering. He'd already had at least three hefty glasses of tequila.

"I don't - "

"Just this once," he coaxed warmly, sliding his hand to my knee.

His touch was foreign and warm on my skin. Suddenly, loneliness enveloped me and I craved his touch.

_Just go with it, Granger, _I thought recklessly. _Let loose a little. What's the harm? One drink is not going to kill you, you know that. You aren't Ron._

"Just one," I gave in. "I'll have one of those drinks that Ariana got."

"Two cherry vodkas," he ordered and I raised my eyebrow at him.

"What? Did you want the apple martini?" he asked, passing me my glass.

"I'm simply teasing you," I laughed, elbowing him and taking a small sip.

After an hour at the club, Ariana found me and Etienne at the bar in a blazing fit.

"I can't believe it!" she huffed. "He stood me up."

"You're kidding," I gasped.

"Wish I was," she responded despondently. "It's been an hour. God, am I stupid? Who waits around for a guy for an hour! Am I that pathetic and desperate?"

I shook my head, hugging her. She smelled heavily of alcohol. I guessed, while waiting for her date to arrive, she'd downed all three glasses of vodka, and then some. She swayed in my arms.

"Maybe we should go home," I suggested, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

"No way," she scoffed. "I'm not going to let some idiot rich boy ruin my entire night. He doesn't want me? Fine. I'm sure there are a ton of men in here who do."

With that she turned swiftly on her heel and stumbled back to the dance floor, almost immediately getting swept into a group of men and women. When I'd finished my drink she was still rocking on the dance floor, getting hot and sweaty with an attractive red head that reminded me far too much of Ron.

The thought of Ron forced its way into my brain and I took another swig of vodka to chase it away.

"Let's dance," I said daringly, grabbing Etienne and hauling him to the dance floor next to Ariana.

"Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed, bumping hips with me. "Look who crawled out of her shell!"

The combination of Etienne's sturdy body swaying next to mine and the alcohol, Ron was soon forgotten. I couldn't believe it but I was actually having fun.

"Ariana," said the Ron look alike. "Let's go sit for a while. I'm starving."

"Good plan, Jean. Merlin, have I got to pee," Ariana shouted, laughing hysterically and tearing herself away from me and Etienne. "You go ahead and grab a booth and I'll find you after."

Before disappearing, Ariana hugged me. "You gonna be okay on your own for a bit, Hermit?"

I rolled my eyes and nodded, shoving her toward the bathroom. "I'll be fine. Go!"

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting kind of tired," Etienne confessed. "Would you like to take a walk with me?"

I liked Etienne, but I wasn't sure I liked him enough to be alone with him this late at night in a foreign country. For reasons I could not explain, my defenses went up slightly, but I forced them away.

"After this song?" I requested, noticing it was one of my favorites.

We continued to dance, out bodies moving together nicely. With the flashing lights, the hum of a liquor-laden mind, the pulsing of the music against my blood, and Etienne's strong hands gripping my waist, I didn't notice at first when his lips connected with mine. At first I didn't mind. A man hadn't kissed me in months and I found I kind of liked it.

Until he grabbed my backside and his tequila coated tongue invaded my mouth.

And I did not like the taste of tequila.

I shoved him off me as if he'd slapped me hard across the face with a white hot iron rod. Suddenly, I had a clear head again.

"Etienne, I - I think we should - "

"Come on, Hermione," Etienne whispered huskily, grabbing my waist and pulling me toward him again. "I thought you were letting loose."

_Letting loose doesn't mean I have to _be _loose, _I thought snappishly.

"Maybe we should take that walk now," I suggested, politely declining his desire.

Completely intoxicated and overcome with a fierce desire I had never experienced with a man, he gripped me harder, practically dragging me toward the dark corner of the dance floor. In alarm, my eyes searched high and low for Ariana, but she was far away and well out earshot in the back booth, her lips locked around Jean's in a passionate dance.

"Let me go," I commanded.

"I thought you wanted to have some fun," Etienne slurred and his lips found mine once again, his hand cupping my breast.

Panic rushed through my system. I kneed him powerfully in the groin and he released me slightly, groaning. With a hard smack, he careened backward and fell to the floor.

"On second thought, I think I'll take that walk on my own," I panted.

Utterly humiliated and embarrassed, I rushed away from him and forced my way through the throng of sweaty bodies.

"_Damn it_!" I heard as I neared the entrance.

Squeezing my way past the two gentleman that had just entered the club, I rammed hard into one of them.

"Excuse me," the blonde man muttered, but I paid him no mind.

Distantly, I heard his friend say, "If it weren't for Astoria_ insisting_ I visit every bloody bridal salon with her and then demanding I go to dinner with her and her mother afterward, I could have been here on time. Now that cute French girl really won't go out with me again. And her friend probably won't too, come to think of it."

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but when I turned around they had their backs to me, heading toward the bar. Could they be the men Ariana had been scheduled to meet? Could that blonde man that I'd bumped into in my haste to exit be the man I was supposed to be on a blind date with?

My thoughts of the two men escaped me once I exited the club, the Parisian night greeting me with a cool breeze and clearing my mind. Even at such an hour, the streets were full of couples and dimly lit street lamps. I walked the streets of Paris for almost an hour before heading back, noticing a small book vendor. It was closed for the night, but I made a mental note to visit it when I had time in the day. Perhaps I would be able to find a really good book that Ariana could help me translate.

When I returned to the bar, I looked about cautiously for Etienne, but I could not find him anywhere. I found Ariana in the same booth as earlier, but Jean was no longer with her. She flagged me down as soon as she caught sight of me.

"They finally showed up," Ariana said, rolling her eyes. "Like an hour and half late, they showed up apologizing. The blonde friend blamed himself for them being late, claiming their dinner got out later than they expected it to. Whatever. By then I was with Jean and told them I wasn't interested and he'd lost his chance. He really didn't seem to mind, so I guess that's that. But Jean wasn't too pleased when he found out I'd intended to come here with another man, so he left about an hour ago. Where have you been, by the way? I couldn't find Etienne anywhere."

I shrugged, figuring she'd had enough drama of her own tonight.

"Etienne and I are really only good company when discussing poetry," I explained. "I'm not interested in him at all, so it was a little awkward to stick around him after the writing talk had died down. I took a walk; needed some fresh air. He must have gone home."

Ariana scoffed. "Looks like neither of us had very good luck tonight. Anyway, it's a relief to hear you don't fancy Etienne. I was starting to get worried. Think he'd go for me?"

I sighed. "Honestly? I think he'd go for just about anyone. You did turn his head, though. But I don't think it is a good - "

"Oh, Hermione. Etienne is harmless," laughed Ariana. "He's a little bit dramatic when it comes to poetry and a little intense, but he's super attractive."

Arguing with her seemed useless, so I pinned my lips shut and nodded along with her.

Ariana pretty much collapsed on my bed as soon as we got back to the penthouse, and I crept into bed with my misguided friend, turning her on her side so I didn't have to smell her alcohol ridden breath.

Wondering if coming to Paris had been too good to be true and wondering if I would ever find a decent man, I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of London and if I should just go back home and leave Paris and its drama in the dust.


End file.
